


The good stuff

by marginaliana



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has had Top Secret security clearance for twenty four whole hours and he's bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The good stuff

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selenay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenay/gifts).



Q has had Top Secret security clearance for twenty four whole hours and he's beginning to suspect that the bulk of MI-6's security exists only because someone in charge likes the sight of men standing around with guns. 

He's had an hour or two in Q branch at most, enough to see the hottest new inventions that the old Q's team have come up with ( _saw blades in a briefcase, honestly_ ) and to begin to sketch out a mental plan for the changes he'll want to make. But the rest of the time he's been shuttled around from place to place, given the tour of the office spaces ( _boring_ ), the gym ( _don't care_ ), and the firing range ( _possibly useful eventually, but since it's more or less a slightly hyped up bowling alley, there's really no need to spend more than fifteen seconds on it_ ).

There's nothing _here_. Okay, yes, there is data here, locked up in the various server banks that he keeps catching glimpses of every time they go through Q branch on their way to something far less interesting. That would be reason enough for men with guns, he knows.

But surely that can't be everything. So far he hasn't seen anything that lives up to the infamous MI-6 mystique that he keeps hearing so much about. Where are the jetpacks? Where are the tracking devices hidden in pocket lint? Where are the invisible cars? (Okay, actually, the invisible cars could be anywhere, really.)

Tanner keeps saying they'll get to the good stuff eventually. But it's been a whole day and Q's beginning to think he might have been better off accepting one of his twenty seven other job offers. 

"I'm sure I don't need the rest of the tour," he tells Tanner, as they're walking down yet another nondescript hallway. "I won't get lost on my way to the kitchen, I promise."

What he really needs is ten minutes to sit quietly and memorize the building plans, but it seems rude to tell Tanner that.

"You'll want to see this," Tanner says patiently. "And after that I'll let you get to work, I promise."

They come to an unmarked door. Tanner punches a long sequence into a keypad, then presses his thumb to the fingerprint scanner that slides open. 

"Is there a protocol for—" Q starts, but when Tanner pulls the door open, the sentence dies in his throat.

The room behind the door is huge, perhaps three stories high and as long as a football field. How they've managed to fit it into the building space available he has no idea. Suspended in the air halfway up the space is— 

Well, it's a creature of some sort, Q's prepared to acknowledge that much. It's big, perhaps the size of a large horse, with wings that span easily twice its body length. Along its flank are overlapping scales of tawny gold, burnished and shining even in the wan industrial light. But it's the creature's head that draws his eye even more than the rest – pointed, predatory and sharp – and as he watches, it opens its mouth and looses a long stream of bright orange flame into the air.

It's a bloody dragon, is what it is.

"Wha—" says Q, intelligently.

"Yes, he does that to people," says Tanner. Even without looking away from the dragon – _Dragon!_ Q's mind gibbers helpfully – he can tell Tanner is smiling indulgently. "I did say we'd get to the good stuff eventually."

"You did," Q agrees. "Christ. He's gorgeous."

The dragon dives, twisting a long, lithe curl through the air, down and down. It's twenty feet off the ground – and Q is just beginning to think they might have to run away – when the air around the dragon shimmers like the haze of a desert mirage. And then there is a man in its place, landing with a tidy thump on the balls of his feet.

"Thank you," he says, giving Q a flirtatious grin. His face is square, marked with several small scars, and rather incongruously, he's wearing a suit. If Q hadn't just seen what he's just seen, he might have said this man was nothing more than security for some billionaire's garden party. 

There's a look in the man's eye, though, that makes Q think of the dragon. A look that says he's probably just as dangerous no matter the form he takes. 

The man holds out his hand to shake. "The name's Bond," he says. "James Bond."


End file.
